Page 41 of Kidnapped By a Highland Shadow

Not All Decisions Will Wait

“Ale, please,” Arran snapped. The innkeeper flinched at his impolite tone but nodded, pouring out a generous flagon of ale. No doubt his generosity was helped by the large coin purse jingling at Arran’s belt. Laird Steward had been happy with Arran’s work, and he had shown it.

He’d carelessly tossed the purse at Arran, who had snatched it out of the air almost without thinking. Pippia had seen it. She’d traced the arc of the purse with her eyes, watching Arran catch it.

Payment for a job well done. Guilt coursed through him, hot and inescapable, as painful as any burn, and doubtless just as permanent.

Might as well get drunk, Arran thought dully. Perhaps the ale would cloud his mind and memory, and make him forget. He rarely drank, so perhaps the ale would be more effective on him now than on a hardened drinker.

Hardly. Even as he sipped the bitter, watery ale, Arran knew that he would never forget the way Pippia had looked at him. Hope and a silent pleading, which gradually faded to misery, betrayal, resignation.

It’s not my fault,Arran told himself. I told her, didn’t I? I made it clear, right from the start, that I had to bring her here, and that’s that. I’m a loyal man, everyone knows that. Besides, I want an end to this feud, just like anyone else. This feud has to end one way or another, and this way, there’ll be no more blood. It’s for the greater good. Not that it’s an easy decision, but it is the right decision. Yes. The right decision.

He took a swig of the ale, wincing at the taste, and forced himself to drain the tankard to its dregs, and slammed it back down on the innkeeper’s table.

“Another,” he managed. “Be quick about it.”

“Turning to the drink, eh? That’s not like you, Arran.”

Arran flinched at the smooth, feminine voice coming from behind him. He twisted around to see Sierra lounging at a table in a dark corner of the inn. She gestured for him to come over, and Arran numbly obeyed, taking his new flagon and setting it down on the greasy table with a careless thump.

“What d’you want, Sierra?” he asked dully.

Annoyance flickered across her beautiful features. Arran frowned a little. Was she a little paler than before? There were certainly dark circles etched around Sierra’s pretty eyes, hinting at worry and a lack of sleep.

“I wanted to see you, of course. I thought you’d come and see me when you came home. I waited for you,” Sierra whispered, sliding a hand across the table to touch Arran’s. He whisked his hand away, glancing worriedly toward the innkeeper.

“Are you mad, Sierra? Someone’ll see.”

“Who? The innkeeper’s gone out, probably scared off by your glaring. There’s nobody in here.”

“Walls have ears and keyholes have eyes, and you know that,” Arran insisted. “Don’t be foolish. Besides, I told you that this was over. If you think about it for a moment, you’ll agree that it’s for the best.”

She laughed, a melodious chuckle that Arran had once thought was the most beautiful sound in the world. Now, it grated on his already overstretched nerves. He was tempted to fling the rest of his disgusting ale in her face if it would make her stop laughing. Or better yet, go away.

“It isn’t over, Arran, not until I say it is.”

“Oh aye? How’d you figure that?”

Sierra shrugged, shuffling closer. She had a gleam in her eye that Arran did not like. “Things have changed while you’ve been away.”

“I’ve only been gone a couple of days.”

“That’s long enough. A lot can change in a day or two. Something’s up, I know that. James won’t come near me, and his wretched steward, Jimmy, smiles and stares at me like he’s foreseen my death.”

“Maybe he has,” Arran observed. “Maybe Stewart knows about you and me.” That idea, which had once sent fear sparking down Arran’s spine, didn’t seem to bother him at all now. What had changed? Did he no longer care what Sierra and Stewart thought? Or did he simply not fear them?

If it was the latter, he was a fool. Only stupid men weren’t afraid of James Stewart.

Sierra pursed her lips together. “I’m too clever for him.”

“A lot of his enemies thought that too, right before he killed them. That’s a dangerous thing to believe. You should know that, Sierra.”

“Maybe so, but you’re back now, aren’t you?” Sierra tilted her head to one side, coyly fluttering her eyelashes. She comically exaggerated the movement, but it suited her even so. “You can protect me.”

“Me? I cannot protect anyone. I couldn’t even save poor Pippia McTavie.”

Sierra blinked, looking a little wrong-footed. “Who?”